


baby, it's cold inside

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Castiel, Castiel Is So Done, Caterer Dean, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fights, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Making Up, Married Life, Professor Castiel, Riding, SPN Holiday Mixtape, Top Dean, sex in front of the fireplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: The holiday season can be stressful, and this year has been particularly rough for Dean and Castiel. Their marriage is already suffering when Cas comes home to a freezing house, a broken furnace, and a husband who won't pick up his phone. When Dean finally does get home, the resulting argument leaves both of them reeling, wondering if this is the end of their relationship as they know it. But with the help of a roaring fire, a bit of patience, and a lot of love, they just might be able to find their way back to each other.





	baby, it's cold inside

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for this year's round of the SPN Holiday Mixtape challenge! I'm so happy to be participating again, and trying my hand at something a little bit different: established relationship!
> 
> Thanks to Anna and Diamond for reading this over for me before posting, and to my fellow challenge mods for another great experience with this challenge.

The first thing Castiel notices when he walks in the front door is how cold it is in the house. He frowns as he pulls off his gloves, then decides to leave them on for a few more minutes. He grumbles to himself as he pulls off his boots and slides his feet into his slippers, then strides into the living room to check the thermostat. It currently reads 52 degrees.

“What the hell,” Castiel mutters. “Dean, if you left the windows open again, I swear…”

His husband isn’t even home, but it makes Castiel feel better to rant at him anyway. Dean always runs hot, unlike Castiel, and tends to leave windows cracked open even in the middle of December. But after a tour of their little house, Castiel only finds the bathroom window open an inch, not nearly enough to account for the temperature in the house.

He can’t hear the furnace running, either. The house is old, a fixer-upper they bought eight months ago from an elderly woman who had lived there most of her life, and the furnace is ancient and normally noisy. He should have realized earlier that he couldn’t hear it groaning and creaking away.

With a heavy sigh, he descends the stairs to the basement and inspects the furnace in the back corner of the room, but he has no idea what he’s doing, and he can’t determine anything from looking at it other than that it doesn’t seem to be working, which he already knew. 

He’s going to have to call Dean.

Grumbling, Castiel returns to the living room and pulls the blue-and-green plaid blanket off the back of the couch and around his shoulders as he brings up Dean’s contact page on his phone. It rings and rings and rings, and then he hears his husband’s cheerful voice asking him to leave a message.

“Dean, it’s me,” he says, wrapping the blanket more tightly around himself. “It’s, uh, just after eight. I just got home from the exam and I think the furnace is broken. Let me know if you can duck out and take a look or if I should call a repair company.”

Ending the call, he makes his way into the kitchen and puts the kettle on, figuring that a hot cup of tea will help warm him up from the inside. At least their electricity seems to be working. While the kettle is boiling, he changes into more comfortable clothes, layering a long-sleeved shirt under an old hoodie from his college days and topping the whole ensemble off with the blanket again. He probably looks ridiculous, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is being warm.

After half an hour and two cups of tea, Dean still hasn’t called back. Instead of trying again, he dials the office instead.

“Winchester Catering, Charlie speaking,” a bright voice answers. 

“Charlie, hi, it’s Cas.”

“Oh, hey Cas! What’s up?

“I’m trying to get in touch with Dean, but he isn’t answering his phone. Do you know where they’re working tonight?”

“Let me check for you.” There’s the sound of clicking keys, and then Charlie continues. “It’s a holiday party at Adler and Associates, the big law firm. Dean’s been stressing about it for weeks.”

Has he? Castiel can’t remember Dean saying anything about it, but then again, he can’t really remember the last time they had a real conversation. The holidays are always an incredibly busy season for Dean, working party after party, often coming home long after Castiel has gone to bed. And Castiel has been busy himself, grading final essays for his upper-level classes and overseeing the exams for his freshman survey of English Literature. 

“Right, of course,” he lies. “I didn’t realize that was tonight. Well, if you happen to hear from him, would you please ask him to call me?”

“Is everything okay, Cas?” Charlie’s voice is soft, and Castiel is tempted to confide in her, but she’s Dean’s friend first. As much as he knows she wouldn’t take sides, it doesn’t seem fair to put her in the middle of their troubles.

“Everything’s fine,” he says. “Have a good night, Charlie.”

He ends the call and tries Dean again, but it goes to voicemail. Frustrated, he begins searching for a number for a local heating and cooling company.

Rationally, Castiel knows he’s being overly dramatic. Things break all the time, and their house is old. He’d been wary of buying it for just that reason, but Dean had been so excited, so charmed by the little house and its quirks. “We’ll fix it up,” he promised. “Make it perfect, just for us. New houses have no personality, Cas.”

Like always, Castiel had been caught up in Dean’s enthusiasm and agreed. Dean likes fixing things, building things, and had thrown himself into the projects with confidence. Castiel is much less handy around the house, and he’d accepted that about himself long ago. If Dean were only here, Castiel is certain he could fix the furnace himself, even temporarily. 

But Dean isn’t here.

He could wait. Save them the expense of having someone come to look at it. But something about the idea of waiting for Dean to come home bothers Castiel. He may not be able to fix it himself, but he is an independent man, and he can call for a repair like a grown-up. 

It only takes another half an hour for the technician to arrive, and Castiel greets her with relief, hoping it’s an easy fix. “Thank you for coming so quickly,” he says. “Castiel Novak. Nice to meet you.”

“Dorothy,” she says with a polite smile and a firm handshake. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

Castiel hovers uselessly as she makes her way down to the basement, then figures it’s best if he stays out of her way. He puts the kettle back on, making sure there’s enough water to offer her a cup of tea as well. He hears the occasional clank and bang from the basement, and for a second he thinks he feels warm air spilling from the vent, but then it stops again.

He ventures down after the kettle has boiled. “Would you like a cup of tea?” he asks.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” Dorothy says.

“Any progress?”

She blows her hair out of her face and gives him a sympathetic look. “Let’s go back upstairs,” she suggests.

Castiel leads her to the living room and takes a seat. “Is it bad?” 

“Your furnace is cracked,” she says bluntly. “It’s old, and these things only last so long. It’s a hazard to have it running.”

“Can it be repaired?” 

“Unfortunately not,” Dorothy says, shaking her head. “You’ll need to have it replaced.”

Castiel swears under his breath, then bites his lip. “My apologies,” he mutters. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard worse,” Dorothy laughs. “Look. You can either bundle up for the night or get a hotel room, and we’ll send someone out tomorrow morning to discuss options for a replacement and get it installed as quickly as possible, okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel agrees. There isn’t really any other option. 

“Don’t worry about the diagnostic fee,” Dorothy says, rising to her feet. “We’ll roll it all into the total bill at the end.”

“That would be great. Thank you again for coming out here so quickly.”

He escorts her to the door and shakes her hand again, shivering at the blast of even colder air that sweeps in through the open door. After she’s gone, he returns to the couch and curls up under his blanket, considering his options. 

The motel room is probably the most sensible choice. If they had more family and friends nearby, Castiel would just stay with them, but Gabriel is away until Christmas Eve and Dean’s brother Sam is flying in from California the same day. Castiel isn’t particularly fond of asking for help, either, so he decides against that plan. It’s after eleven now, and surely Dean will be home soon. They can decide what to do then.

In the meantime, Castiel builds a small fire, thankful he can manage that, at least. It takes the worst of the chill out of the room, but any inch of exposed skin feels like ice. His nose is probably bright pink. He could use the time productively and grade more papers, but instead, he opens his laptop and pulls up Netflix. Surely there’s something binge-worthy to distract him.

***

Dean closes the door to the van with a sigh of relief, slumping into the seat. God, what a night. He knew the Adler and Associates party was going to be a shitshow, but it was even worse than he expected. He’s seriously considering refusing the contract next year, even though it’s one of their biggest. He just really hates Zachariah Adler’s smarmy face.

As he goes to turn the keys in the ignition, he notices his phone lying on the passenger seat. He hadn’t even noticed that it was gone, he’d been so busy all night. He picks it up, but at some point, the battery died. He tosses it back onto the seat, figuring he’ll just charge it when he gets home.

There’s a light on in the offices of Winchester Catering despite the late hour, and Dean shakes his head. Charlie’s dedication is admirable, but she needs to get home. Just like he does. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he says as he enters. “What are you still doing here?”

“Just finishing up,” she replies without looking up from her screen. “I’ll be out of here in no time, I promise.”

“Want a ride?’ Dean offers. It’s cold out tonight, and though Charlie’s apartment is only a few blocks away, he doesn’t like the thought of her walking home in this weather.

“Please,” she answers, finally looking up and offering him a tired smile. “The sooner I can get home and curl up in bed, the better.”

“You and me both,” Dean mutters. 

They’re out of the office and settled into Dean’s car within ten minutes. The Impala rumbles to life beneath them, and Dean takes the drive slower than usual, conscious of the heavily falling snow.

“Another Adler party down,” Charlie says. “Thank goodness.”

“Thank goodness indeed,” Dean says. “How was it here on your end?”

“Oh, the usual calls about things that could have been directed to you,” she sighs. “Oh, and before I forget, Cas called earlier, looking for you.”

“Did he?” Dean blinks. “Yeah, apparently I left my phone in the van in all the chaos. Must have tried you afterwards. Did he say what was up?”

“No,” Charlie replies with a little shrug. “Just asked me to let you know he called.”

“Huh.” Dean isn’t sure what to make of that, but it doesn’t sound like any kind of emergency. They can talk about it when he gets home.

Of course, that presumes they’ll actually have a real conversation. Cas has been so distant lately, always on campus working late to finish grading papers or holding office hours for panicked freshman having breakdowns about their first final exams. Dean’s used to it, of course, but somehow this year seems even worse than usual. He feels like he’s barely seen his husband in days. 

After a quick goodnight to Charlie, Dean turns the car around and heads for home. It’s a twenty minute drive across town, and the snow is falling heavier and heavier. The roads are deserted, and he’s exhausted, but he knows better than to try to rush home. It’s not worth risking his own safety, or his Baby’s. 

Eventually, he pulls onto their quiet street and into the driveway, grimacing at the accumulation of snow he’ll have to shovel in the morning. He’s surprised to see smoke coming from the chimney, but then imagines Cas sitting in front of the fire, the lights on their Christmas tree twinkling in the background, maybe with a mug of hot cocoa in front of him, waiting for Dean to get home. 

“Babe?” he calls out as he opens the door. “What are you still doing up?”

He can smell the smoke from the fire, but it seems awfully cold in the house. Frowning, Dean tugs off his boots and goes to investigate.

As he predicted, Cas is in the living room, curled up on the couch with a small fire going. He has his laptop open in front of him, but he slowly closes it when Dean enters the room, and there’s a stormy look on his face that stops Dean in his tracks.

“Hey,” Dean says cautiously. “You okay?”

“No, Dean.” Cas’ voice is flat. “I’m freezing.”

“It does seem a bit chilly in here,” Dean agrees. “Want me to warm you up?” He waggles his eyebrows, but Cas doesn’t seem charmed.

If anything, his face goes stonier than ever. “I wanted you here to look at the furnace four hours ago,” he says tightly. 

“Oh, shit,” Dean says, glancing at the thermostat on the wall. “It’s not working? I’ll go take a look right now.”

“Don’t bother,” Cas sighs. “You weren’t answering your phone. So I called someone to come look at it.”

“Fuck,” Dean mutters. “I’m sorry, Cas, I left my phone in the van. It must have died while I was working. Charlie said you called, but not until like half an hour ago when I met her back at the office.”

He drops onto the couch beside him, and flinches when Cas deliberately pulls his legs back so they’re not in contact. Dean sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “Cas,” he starts, but his husband just shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he says.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Dean says, his frustration starting to leak into his voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t have my phone on me, okay?”

“It’s not just about tonight,” Cas mutters, looking away. “You’re never here, Dean. How are we supposed to host Christmas here for all our family if you’re never around?”

Dean reels back, mouth dropping open. “Come on,” he says. “Cas, it’s not like you’ve been home all that much lately either. I swear you spend more time at the office than you do here.”

“So maybe I should have just stayed there tonight,” Cas replies. “At least it would be warm.”

“You know what? Enough.” Dean stands and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m going to go take a look at the furnace, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

“They already came and looked at it,” Cas says wearily. “It’s cracked. It’s just old.”

“Maybe I can fix it, at least temporarily.” Dean’s nothing if not stubborn. If he can just get the furnace working again, maybe Cas’ mood will improve and they can stop this ridiculous fight.

“Dean, there are some things you just can’t fix!” Cas shouts.

His words ring in the suddenly silent, cold air. Dean stares at him, trying to form a reply, but his words fail him. He knows without a doubt that Cas is talking about more than the furnace.

“Cas--” he pleads, but his husband shakes his head again and gets up off the couch.

“I can’t do this right now,” he says. “I’m going to bed. Don’t follow me.”

“Fine,” Dean shoots back. This is bullshit. “I’ll stay out here with your crappy excuse for a fire.”

He sees Cas’ shoulders tense as he walks away, but Cas doesn’t reply. The blanket trails behind him as he disappears down the hall, and seconds later, Dean hears their bedroom door slam shut. 

“He’d be warmer if he knew how to make a proper fire,” Dean mutters to himself as he loads more wood into the fireplace, thankful that they’d already stocked up in preparation for the holidays. “No wonder he’s being such an asshole.”

If he can just focus on Cas’ behaviour, maybe he can forget the look on his face when he said those words. _There are some things you just can’t fix_. Dean shakes his head and waits until the fire has roared to life, then drags his winter coat and scarf out of the closet and makes himself a nest on the couch. The temperature is dropping despite the fire, and Dean knows they’re both going to be in for an unpleasant night.

***

It’s even colder in the bedroom without the warmth from the fire, but Castiel’s self-righteous fury burns hot inside him. He mutters to himself as he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, flicking off the lamp with more force than necessary.

The bed feels too wide without Dean in it beside him, but Castiel chooses to ignore that, curling up on his side and facing the wall so he can pretend nothing’s different. But every time he closes his eyes, he sees the look of pure shock and dismay on Dean’s face when he told him some things couldn’t be fixed. Castiel never meant to say it, and he’ll probably feel bad about it eventually, but right now, he just needs to get some rest.

Sleep eludes him, however, as he keeps tossing and turning and pulling the covers more tightly around himself. The bedroom is at the back of the house, and the large bay window probably doesn’t help keep out the cold. 

He should have made Dean sleep in here, he thinks bitterly, and stayed where it was relatively warm. Or he could have been less of an asshole and not insisted on them sleeping apart in the first place, but that would mean admitting he was wrong, and that’s one thing Castiel hates doing. 

After an hour of chattering teeth, though, he’s willing to sacrifice his pride in order to regain feeling in his toes. Wrapping the quilt around him, he quietly opens the bedroom door and makes his way down the dark hall towards the glow of the fire.

Dean is asleep on the couch, wrapped up in layers of winter clothing. The firelight casts shadows over his face, making him look younger in its golden light. The anger that has been burning inside Castiel lessens slightly at the sight, and he sighs as he pokes at the fire, coaxing it back to life.

“Cas?” Dean mumbles, opening his eyes and blinking at him. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” Castiel says. He climbs onto the couch beside Dean, nudging him over so he can lie back against his chest and pulling the quilt over both of them. Dean instinctively wraps his arms around him, and Castiel can’t pretend that he doesn’t feel warmer immediately. “I’m still angry with you,” he warns.

“Okay,” Dean says, pressing his face into Castiel’s hair. “You wanna talk about it?”

It’s easier, somehow, when he can’t see Dean’s face. Castiel thinks about it for a moment, listening to the steady beat of Dean’s heart, and then nods. 

“So talk to me,” Dean coaxes. 

Castiel waits another minute before he begins, trying to get his thoughts in order. “I had a hard day,” he admits. “A student came in to explain why she hadn’t submitted her final essay on time. Her father passed away unexpectedly, and he’s all she had left for family. She had to take care of everything herself, and she’s only nineteen, Dean, she shouldn’t have to--”

He pauses to swallow roughly and feels Dean’s arms tighten around him. “Poor kid,” Dean murmurs. “You care about them so much, Cas, and I love that about you.”

“Well, it was hard to hear,” Cas sighs, “and then I got home, and it was so cold, and I was just exhausted. All I wanted was to have a relaxing evening at home, and it turned into this huge thing, and you know how much I hate feeling helpless when you aren’t around, always depending on my more so-called manly partner to take care of things…”

Dean nuzzles against the side of Castiel’s neck. “You know I like taking care of you, though.”

“I know,” Castiel admits. “But I felt so helpless with Krissy. All I could do was accept her paper with no penalties. And then it just all became one big meltdown and I wanted you here, Dean. But you weren’t, and I couldn’t even reach you.”

Dean is silent for a few moments, and Castiel starts to wonder if he’s being too accusatory, putting too much of this on Dean when really, it isn’t his fault he had to work tonight. 

“I wish I could have been,” he says eventually. “The Adler party was a shitshow. Trust me, I’d rather have been here, even in the cold.”

“Charlie mentioned it,” Castiel says hesitantly. “That you’d been stressed about it. I didn’t even know.”

“Yeah, well, I guess we’ve both been busy lately,” Dean replies. 

There’s an edge to his voice that prompts Castiel to turn in his arms, leaning against the couch so he can look into his face. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I was too busy feeling neglected that I didn’t consider how you might be feeling lonely as well. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Dean agrees. “But I always knew you were a grumpy little shit, and I married you anyway.”

“You did,” Castiel says, eyes drifting to the framed picture from their wedding day that sits atop the fireplace mantel, illuminated by the glow of the fire below. “That was a good day.”

“It was.” Dean grins up at him. “You looked so sexy in that tux, I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

“Like you almost lost the rings?”

“Hey,” Dean pouts, “I found them in time.”

“You did,” Castiel acknowledges. “Unlike the time you lost the hat I knitted for you, the first Christmas we were together.”

“I still think Sam’s dog stole it,” Dean mutters. 

“Sure, blame the dog. Admit it, you just didn’t want to wear it. I can’t blame you. I was a terrible knitter.”

“Not true!” Dean protests. “You made a very nice Gryffindor scarf for Charlie.”

“So if I make you a scarf, it won’t mysteriously go missing?”

“Never,” Dean declares solemnly. “I’ll wear it proudly until it falls apart from shabby craftsmanship.”

Castiel is startled into laughter, and he swats playfully at Dean’s chest. Dean just laughs and grabs his hand, raising it to his mouth and pressing a fond kiss to his palm. “Your hands are still cold,” he murmurs.

“I believe you mentioned something about warming me up, earlier?” Castiel jokes.

Dean rolls his eyes and sticks Castiel’s hand into his armpit. Castiel yelps in protest, but it is warm. Dean’s eyes are bright, their usual sparkle returned, and Castiel feels guilty for ever causing it to dim in the first place.

He remembers the first time he saw Dean, when he was just a struggling graduate student and Dean was tending bar at the local dive. Dean had winked at him as he handed him his beer, and they’d gotten to talking, and soon enough, they were balancing their new relationship with the goals they’d been chasing for years. Dean was his rock through that entire time, and Castiel knows without a doubt he would never have made it without his support.

“Cas?” Dean asks. “What are you thinking about?”

“How much I love you,” Castiel replies, gratified to see a blush immediately spread across Dean’s face. It never fails to amuse him, how Dean can whisper incredibly filthy things into his ear when they’re having sex, but he falls apart at any outright declaration of feeling.

“Enough to fix things?” Dean asks. His voice is light, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that Castiel wants to kiss away.

Wincing, he says, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“If you meant it--”

“I didn’t,” Castiel insists. “Dean. You’ve always been the one to encourage me, to tell me to keep going when things looked dark. And I need to hear that, sometimes, because I get stuck in my own head too often. But I’m not going to this time. I know it’s been difficult lately, but I promise, we _can_ fix this.”

Dean just looks at him for a minute, eyes searching his face. Whatever he finds there must satisfy him, because he nods and says, “Alright.”

With a sigh of relief, Castiel curls back against him. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “For putting up with me.”

Dean just laughs gently. “You’re lucky you’re so handsome,” he says. 

“I’m nothing compared to you,” Castiel replies. 

“Let’s agree to disagree on that one. I’m tired of fighting.”

“Me too.”

“I’m also tired of this couch,” Dean complains, wiggling around beneath him. “Let’s go to bed.”

Castiel shakes his head immediately. “It’s freezing in there.”

“Okay, so let’s drag the mattress and everything out here,” Dean suggests. “Best of both worlds.”

“You’re a genius,” Castiel informs him, leaning over to kiss the tip of his nose. It’s cold, but it makes Dean smile, and that’s worth it.

***

Between the two of them, they manage to get their mattress down the hall and into the living room with only a few stumbles and one instance of someone being crushed against the wall. Cas arranges the blankets on it while Dean adds more wood to the fire, then turns the Christmas tree lights back on, just for good measure. He doesn’t even realize he’s humming _Silent Night_ under his breath until he looks over and sees Cas smiling at him, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re humming,” Cas tells him. “I like when you do that. It means you’re happy.”

“Sap,” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes fondly. But Cas is right. He is happy. It’s still fucking freezing in the house, but they’re going to be okay, the two of them, and that’s all Dean cares about. 

They each lose a few layers before crawling into the little nest Cas has assembled for them, but they’re still covered from pretty much head to toe. Cas curls into Dean’s chest and his head finds the perfect spot to rest on his shoulder, and Dean sighs with contentment. This is how it’s supposed to be. 

His eyes are starting to drift closed, the exhaustion of the day catching up to him, but it seems Cas has other plans, judging by the way his hand is running over Dean’s chest. It’s a tell, with him, a lead-up to something more.

“Whatcha doing, there, Cas?” Dean asks, smiling to himself.

Cas’ hand stills, then repeats the movement at a slower pace. Dean barely holds back a moan as his hand travels across one nipple, just a fleeting touch that promises more pleasure to come. 

“It’s a surefire way to warm up,” Cas says, grazing his lips lightly over the side of Dean’s neck.

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Dean remarks. “C’mere.”

He rolls Cas on top of him, hands settling on his perfect hips, and smiles up at him. Cas smiles back and leans down, lips pressing together in a kiss that’s comforting at first but quickly turns into something hungrier. It’s been too long since they did this, Dean thinks distantly. Too long since he had Cas like this.

He can feel himself growing hard in his pants, and when Cas shifts slightly, Dean feels his erection brush insistently against his thigh. “Cas,” he groans. “You gotta--”

“Got to what?” Cas asks, pulling back. He looks incredibly pleased with himself, and he rocks his hips forward, causing Dean to let loose another groan.

He has all sorts of ideas about the things they could get up to, but most of them would require less clothing in the way, and Dean’s not sure how Cas would feel about that. He’s starting to get pretty warm, himself, but Cas might not enjoy it, and after tonight, Dean wants to ensure he never gets that cold and grumpy again.

“You’re thinking too much,” Cas informs him. “Relax.”

Dean starts to reply, but he’s cut off by Cas pressing their lips back together, and it’s distracting enough to stop his thoughts entirely. Even more so when Cas shifts back just far enough that he can trail his lips across Dean’s jaw and down the side of his neck, pushing aside the collar of his shirt so he can nip at the skin where his shoulder meets his neck.

“Are you warm enough?” Cas asks, his voice rough.

Dean can only nod and raise his arms so Cas can pull his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere out of sight. Cas gazes down at him for a moment, then places a kiss right in the centre of Dean’s chest. Dean buries his hands in Cas’ hair and exhales deeply as Cas worships him with lips and tongue, delicate pressure and the occasional nip, years of experience working to bring Dean the ultimate pleasure. 

Every kiss Cas layers onto his skin feels like an apology, like a promise. Dean arches into his touch and thanks whatever forces control the universe that they’re here together like this. Cas murmurs something Dean can’t quite decipher as he slowly pushes Dean’s sweatpants down his legs, pressing his face against the softness of his stomach. Dean squirms beneath him and Cas laughs, then kisses him again, taking his breath away.

Dean’s down to just a pair of boxers but he doesn’t even feel the cold anymore, too occupied with the way Cas’ hands are running over his erection. He brings his own hands down to settle on Cas’ glorious ass and squeeze it lightly, making Cas lose his rhythm for a moment and give him a sharp look.

“Be patient,” he murmurs. 

Patience isn’t exactly Dean’s strong suit, but he’ll try. For Cas. So he settles back and lets Cas do what he wants with him. 

But Cas doesn’t move to touch him again. Instead, he slides off Dean for a moment, then pulls down his own pants and throws them aside, his boxers following soon after. He keeps his shirt on, though, and Dean blinks at him, confused, but then Cas smirks down at him and holds up a little bottle of lube, flicking it open and pouring some over his fingers.

“When did you grab that?” Dean asks, laughing.

“When we were getting the mattress,” Cas replies easily.

“Sneaky bastard,” Dean says, running a hand fondly over Cas’ hip. “Let me--”

But Cas smacks his hand away and reaches behind himself, mouth falling open as he slowly works one finger inside him. Dean exhales shakily and just lets himself enjoy the view, hand still tracing lazy circles on the sharp cut of Cas’ hip. 

Cas is rocking back against his own hand, breathless moans spilling from his lips, eyes closed and face flushed in the firelight. He looks so fucking beautiful like this, and Dean is going to explode if he doesn’t get some relief for his aching cock. He reaches down and wraps one hand loosely around himself, stroking gently, as he continues to watch Cas open himself up. 

He’ll never get tired of having Cas like this. Of being this close to him. When he was younger, Dean slept around a lot, but pretty much from the minute he met Cas, he knew he was it. The One. All that romantic crap he dismissed as bullshit before. But even after six years together, he still marvels at his luck. 

“You make me so damn happy, you know that?” he says.

Cas pauses for a moment to smile down at him. “I know,” he says. “Even when I’m being a grumpy little shit.”

“Especially then,” Dean tells him, and Cas’ eyes go soft and fond.

But a second later, he’s pulling his shirt over his head, then shifting forward, grasping Dean’s cock in one lube-covered hand and slicking him up before slowly lowering himself onto it with a shuddering breath. Dean bites back a moan at the sudden, welcoming heat of him, head thumping back against the pillows beneath him.

“God, Cas,” he sighs. “You feel--”

“I know,” Cas murmurs, raising himself up and then dropping down again. “I know.”

They move together in silence broken only by their quick, shallow breathing and the occasional pop and crackle from the fire still burning brightly behind them. It casts golden shadows over Cas’ exposed skin, turning him into something ethereal, otherworldly. Dean runs his hand all over him, trying to catch that golden light, encouraging Cas with soft touches and sweet words mumbled under his breath.

Judging by the noises he’s making, Cas is getting close. Dean plants his feet on the mattress and grips him tightly around the waist, giving him more leverage to rock back and forth against him. “Touch yourself for me, Cas,” he instructs. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Cas moans, a broken, beautiful sound, and does as he’s told, hand moving over his cock in time with the rise and fall of his body. Dean thrusts up into him harder and Cas chokes back another noise, eyes slipping closed. “Look at me,” Dean coaxes. “Cas. Look at me.”

Those blue eyes fly open, and Dean meets them steadily, and then Cas’ entire body goes stiff as he comes. Dean murmurs nonsense to him as he comes down, and when Cas finally catches his breath, he looks at Dean with such fondness on his face that it takes away whatever breath Dean has left.

“Your turn,” he says, rolling his hips forward. “I know you’ve been holding back, Dean.”

He has. Dean can’t keep anything secret from Cas, apparently. He thrusts up once, twice more, and then Cas leans down to kiss him and Dean’s orgasm crashes over him, spilling inside Cas’ body with a moan that’s swallowed up by his husband’s lips pressed against his own.

Cas kisses him through it, then gently pulls up and off Dean, grabbing one of their discarded shirts to wipe them both down with. “Now we’re all sticky,” he complains as he curls back against Dean’s chest.

“Yeah, and we smell like firewood,” Dean points out. “We’re just going to have to scrub each other clean tomorrow, I guess.”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be so terrible,” Cas agrees. He brushes a soft kiss against the corner of Dean’s jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dean murmurs, tightening his arms around him. “You warm enough?”

Cas buries his laughter in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. “Yes.”

“Finally,” Dean says, and Cas swats at him playfully, then settles back into his embrace. The fire is burning low, and they’re both tired from their long days. His eyes feel heavy, and he lets them drift closed.

They’ll wake up in the morning with cold noses, but this fight will be nothing more than a memory to put behind them. Someone will come to sell them a new furnace, and they’ll squabble over which one to choose, and eventually settle on something. They’ll kiss softly after the sales representative leaves, and when Dean goes off to work his next party, Cas will tuck a little note into his pocket, just a few hastily scribbled words that will make Dean smile through the whole night.

And in a few days’ time, their entire family, both sides of it, will descend on their little house with brightly-wrapped gifts and festive spirits. They’ll have to adjust the new, hyper-sensitive thermostat to accommodate the warmth of so many bodies crammed into such a small space. Dean will catch Cas in the kitchen as he mashes the potatoes and give him a lusty wink as he watches the muscles in Cas’ forearms flex as he works. Cas will sigh and roll his eyes, but there will be a pleased smirk hovering in the corner of his mouth, and Dean will kiss it fondly, and they will be happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays to anyone celebrating at this time of year!


End file.
